User blog comment:Biggren/The Northern March Original/@comment-3135907-20170110030234/@comment-3135907-20170306035612

For a Salamandastron runner, Feffle was surprisingly poor at the woodland circuit; the youthful sprinter tripped once, righted himself, ran a few yards and tripped again, tumbling down an embankment and through a treeline into open territory.

First, silence, then a painful grunt: "Ah, Grims, old lad..."